


Ricochet

by sharkgloves



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkgloves/pseuds/sharkgloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's out of arrows and Steve's unconscious with an army of killbots closing in. The only weapon around is Steve's shield so Clint's going to have to learn how to use it right now if they're going to make it out of this alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ricochet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/5758.html?thread=7638654) at [Avengerkink](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/)
> 
> Prompt asked for Clint using Steve's shield in battle and the other Avengers being appropriately impressed. Bonus for some Clint/Steve.

 

For Clint, the worst feeling in the world is to reach back for an arrow and have his fingers close on empty air.

It doesn’t happen often. For all the shit he gets about his Stone Age weapon, arrows are incredibly efficient (especially when some of them _explode_ ) and he’s gotten really good at judging just how many he’s going to need on a given op.

But then some days you show up for work and suddenly you’re defending downtown LA from a horde of rampaging killbots and. Well. A guy’s best guess has its limits.

Clint had started out thirty stories up but he’s groundside again after a serious difference of opinion between him and a collapsing building. Miraculously, he’s not injured, but he’s lost his com and what feels like about half the back of his suit and a couple of layers of skin too. He really hopes his ass isn’t hanging out, but dignity is pretty far down his list of priorities right now what with the whole trying to avoid getting said perky and possibly-exposed ass shot off by twelve foot tall robots with mounted laser cannons as he races towards Steve’s last known position. 

As far as he knows, Natasha and the Hulk are still keeping things contained over in China Town while Tony and Thor deal with the special snowflakes of the killbot world that seem to have decided that they actually want to be Transformers and have slotted themselves together into some gigantic and bizarre piece of _oh-God-why_ that has a serious hate-on for City Hall.

(Sometimes Clint is really glad not to be one of the heavy hitters on this team because, seriously, fuck that noise. He hadn’t signed on for this Michael Bay shit.)

And even if the others didn’t all have their hands full, Clint has no way of contacting them and no way of letting Steve know about the squad of killbot reinforcements converging on him. It had been the very last thing Clint had seen before he’d found himself having to jump with no time to warn Steve.

Steve’s probably wondering what’s happened to him by now. If he hasn’t noticed the sudden lack of arrows thinning out the numbers surrounding him, then he’ll definitely be missing Clint’s running commentary and updates on enemy positions. Without Clint acting as his eyes up high, Steve is working blind down here.

Steve had been advancing up Third Street when Clint and today’s building of choice had their sudden and explosive falling out, so Clint aims himself in that general direction. He may have hit his head just a little when he landed because he’s finding it hard to get his bearings – the streets are full of chaos and nothing looks familiar.

There’s an overturned bus in his path and he barely hesitates before scaling it. Things always look better up high and from his new perspective he finally catches sight of Third and – _there_ – a flash of blue movement that resolves itself into the abso-fucking-lutely beautiful sight of Steve spinning on a heel and catching his shield barely fifty feet away.

Clint sees the movement behind Steve at the exact same instant that Steve spots him – his eyes going wide and his mouth opening in a relieved grin just as Clint shouts out a warning.

Too late. The laser blast narrowly misses Steve and hits the car behind him in an explosion that sends him flying forwards, shield skidding out of his hand and coming to a stop in front of the bus where Clint stands frozen.

Steve isn’t moving. There are ten, maybe twelve, killbots closing in on them now and Steve isn’t moving and Clint can’t think about that now. Steve isn’t moving and Clint is out of arrows with no way to call for help and no way that any of the others would get there in time even if he did.

He’s got seconds to act and so Clint doesn’t even think about it as he drops his bow, jumps down and picks up Steve’s shield. And, okay, he’s never actually held it before for a whole host of reasons (including being pretty sure that Coulson would cut him if he even thought about it) but mainly because it seemed… wrong somehow. He’s touched just about every inch of Steve’s naked body these past months, but somehow holding his shield is the thing that feels too intimate.

There’s no time for second guessing now though and barely enough time to feel the weight of the shield in his hands before he’s raising it to block a shot and then moving, letting his body act on instinct as he pivots on his toes and sends the shield flying towards the nearest killbot at the vulnerable juncture of wires near its neck. Direct hit and with enough ricochet to send it spinning to glance off a lamppost and then back towards him. He has to leap high to catch it, feeling the solid weight of it thud against his palms before he’s turning again to block another volley.

Steve is still lying unmoving in the street and Clint still isn’t thinking about that as he sends the shield flying towards an approaching killbot and it comes straight back to him. Emboldened, he tries a trickier shot and flips his body up over the next laser volley and lets the shield go while he’s in the air, taking out two of the killbots, and then having to leap up onto an abandoned taxi to get the height to catch it again.

The squadron he saw from the rooftop seems to have finally shown up and he has to scramble to block another laser volley, but he’s getting the hang of it now. It’s just angles – angles and ricochet and this is stuff Clint has known his entire life. This is the first language he ever spoke – bouncing his ball against the corner of his crib and against the wall and back into his hand before he could sound out his ABCs. This is what he does.

He sees the gun turret aim and is moving on instinct before he’s even completed the thought, cartwheeling off of the taxi as it explodes and throwing the shield, rolling as he hits the ground and then catching the shield as it flies back to him.

To his right, Steve is finally beginning to stir and relief fills Clint’s chest so quickly that it hurts but he keeps moving. He can’t rely on Steve for anything more than moral support right now so he deflects a laser volley and then uses the twitching remains of a fallen killbot as a springboard for the perfect angle to send the shield ricocheting between three more like a pinball before it clips the side of a fire hydrant and returns to his outstretched hand.

A stray laser blast comes close enough to singe hair and another scores a stripe of crackling skin along his bicep before Clint can roll aside and get behind the shield. Despite his efforts, there are still too many killbots in front of him but he grits his teeth and puts Steve at his back and keeps using the shield to carve through their numbers.

Deflect and dodge and pivot and release. His hands are going numb from the repeated impact of the returning shield but his aim doesn’t waver and his brain doesn’t stop calculating angles and giving him target after target to reduce to twisted metal and sparks.

Until suddenly there are only seven killbots in front of him. Then six and five. Then four. And then all four of them somehow power down and fall over without even waiting for him to hit them first. Clint stands there panting and confused for a second before slowly turning around to discover his teammates all staring at him with varying degrees of shock on their faces.

Tony is laughing quietly to himself, sounding tinny and distorted until he raises the visor and he’s grinning at Clint with none of the meanness that tends to accompany things that amuse him this much. “Okay, now – that? Even I’m going to admit that was definitely on the impressive side, and we all know how much I _hate_ being impressed by people that aren’t me. Since when did you join the Star Spangled Ultimate Frisbee league, Barton?”

Clint looks around at the others, still catching his breath and a little self-conscious now under the attention and the open admiration that even the Hulk is showing. Steve is still on the ground but he’s sitting up and seems okay now that Clint can finally let himself really look – a little crispy around the edges, but nothing that his super serum won’t take care of within the hour.

And then Clint stops checking for injuries and looks Steve in the eye and he almost drops the shield.

Because downtown LA is lying in tatters around them and Steve is just staring up at Clint with a kind of wide-eyed awe that, honestly, isn’t a million miles from the look he gets when he’s just come in Clint’s mouth, but with an edge of such naked hunger that it makes Clint shiver. Makes him feel painfully exposed being looked at that way out here in the open for anyone to see.

Suddenly, he’s very aware of himself still standing protectively over Steve and brandishing the Captain America shield like a jackass.

“What – what happened to the killbots?” Clint coughs, dragging his eyes away from Steve and eager to deflect the attention onto something else. Anything else. “Was that us? Did we do that or did they just kind of… give up?”

Tony shrugs and waves a careless hand, all _oh, that old thing_. “JARVIS and I hacked into their mainframe and introduced a computer virus. Simple really. But don’t think we didn’t all notice you nimbly dodging my very crucial question there, Katniss. How is it exactly that you’re such a dab hand with the good Captain’s shield now? Been practicing on the sly?”

“Nah,” Clint says. “I just… it’s just angles. I know angles. It’s not that different to arrows, really. Basic principle’s the same.”

He glances at Natasha, feeling off-balance and instinctively reaching out towards what feels like the only safe place for him to look right now. She’s smiling at him with quiet pride but doesn’t look surprised. It takes a lot to surprise Natasha.

“Just like Bratislava,” she inclines her head. “With the garbage can lid and the alley behind the used book store.”

“Yeah,” he smiles back. Grateful, as always, for her. “Just like that.”

“Interesting,” Thor says. “I wonder if this means that you would be able to wield Mjolnir in the same fashion and with the same degree of accuracy.”

That makes Clint laugh and not just because of the way Thor’s face scrunches up like a big kid’s when he’s thinking serious thoughts. “Well, I’d probably need to be able to _lift_ Mjolnir first, big guy. That’s kind of an issue right there.”

It’s around then that S.H.I.E.L.D.’s forces start to move in for the cleanup and there’s finally something else to focus on. Thor goes to answer questions about the Transformer killbots and the Hulk grunts and wanders off to turn back into Bruce in relative privacy, Tony following him and grabbing a set of clothes from the agent who has clearly pissed Fury off enough to be put on Bruce Banner Pants Duty this month.

As the adrenaline fades, the feeling is starting to seep back into Clint’s hands, a sharpening ache that makes him hyperaware that he’s still holding onto Steve’s shield. Every throb of his bruised palms feels like a reminder that he might be able to lift the shield, but that doesn’t mean he has the right to wield it.

Steve is still sitting in the middle of the street but he’s ignoring the medics and continuing to stare at Clint in a way that makes Clint want to hide and crawl into Steve’s lap and turn around to see who that look is really meant for all at the same time. He holds out the shield with an awkward smile but Steve makes no move to take it so Clint lays it carefully on the ground beside him and rubs his palms against his pants.

Finally, the medics get Steve’s attention and Clint takes the opportunity to go retrieve his bow and let them work. Once they’re done with Steve he’s going to ask them to check his hands and make sure he hasn’t broken anything – much as he hates doctors, he knows that’s an injury he can’t afford to let slide.

He’s so used to Natasha’s presence at his side that it takes him a while to look up from inspecting his bow and realise that she’s still there and is now watching him with barely concealed laughter playing around her full lips. He narrows his eyes, well aware that no good ever comes of her looking that amused at his expense and feeling strangely defensive. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” she says sweetly. “I was just wondering when it was you stopped wearing your lucky purple briefs on missions. Not that I’m criticising – the black boxer briefs are a good look too. Very stealthy.”

For a second, Clint is just relieved that she isn’t saying anything about the embarrassing episode with Steve (which she definitely noticed because this is Natasha they’re talking about) and doesn’t register what she did say. And then he closes his eyes and wonders why the universe has it in for him. “Exactly how much of my ass is showing right now? On a scale of Coulson to Bruce.”

She hums thoughtfully and he can tell right now that he’s not going to like the answer.

_ Perfect _ .

 

***

 

Medical doesn’t find anything wrong with him except some bruises and a few minor scrapes and burns. Nothing worth keeping him in for, so Clint gets someone to take him back to the Avengers Tower. All he wants to do is stand under a hot shower for as long as his legs will support him and then collapse onto the nearest horizontal surface. Anything that stands in the way of either of these goals is going to find itself riddled with arrows.

There are definite downsides to living in the Avengers Tower (namely, having to deal with insane people on a daily basis and the itchy feeling Clint gets between his shoulder blades at his location being so publicly known) but all of that doesn’t really mean much when Clint weighs it up against the luxury of having his own private floor made to his own personal specifications. His own shooting range, his own kitchen, his own floor-to-ceiling windows and balcony overlooking downtown Manhattan.

And his own enormous high-pressure walk-in shower with endless hot water. The whole building is powered by Tony’s Arc Reactor tech so Clint never even has to feel guilty about how many penguins he’s killing by letting the water run as hot and as long as he likes.

The shower is his first stop as soon as the elevator delivers him to his floor. He strips off the clothes medical loaned him, pitching them over his shoulder into the laundry basket across the room, and turns the shower on as high and as hot as he can stand it.

The water feels amazing and Clint can’t hold in a groan as he bows his head and lets the water beat down on his back and shoulders, gradually unknotting the interconnected group of muscles that always get tight after he’s been using his bow. There are different aches this time as well – his sides tense and painful from the twisting motion needed to throw the shield and his hands still feeling tender. All of these gradually fade to the pleasant burn following a good workout as he stands beneath the spray, leaning his forearms against the wall and letting the heat soak through to his bones.

He’s been half expecting company so the muffled sounds and slight adjustment in air temperature don’t trigger his defences like they otherwise would. There are only two people besides him who can access his quarters without JARVIS asking for Clint’s express permission first and neither of them make him want to reach for the concealed knife beside the showerhead.

Old habits have kept him alive this far though, so he pushes off of the wall and turns around to squint through the water. “Steve?” he calls. “That you, man?”

“Only me,” Steve calls back, sounding like he’s in the living room. “Stand down, soldier.”

Clint snorts at that and lets his eyes drift close for several seconds. When he opens them again Steve is standing just beyond the reach of the water and wearing nothing but a towel.

Now that there is a sight to make a long day worth it, but Clint never can resist being an asshole. “Something wrong with your shower, Cap?”

“No matter what I do I can never seem to get the water temperature just how I want it,” Steve shrugs with exaggerated casualness before deliberately dragging his eyes up and down the length of Clint’s body, sending shivers in their wake. “Besides, the view isn’t as good as the one you’ve got in here.”

It always amuses Clint how playful and corny Steve can be but how he’s always pretty clear about what it is he’s after. The guy ain’t shy, no matter what the S.H.I.E.L.D. rumour mill would have you believe.

“Lies,” Clint’s glad that the shower is hot enough to disguise any extra colour that may or may not be in his cheeks. “I know you’re here because I have the expensive shampoo that you’re too cheap to buy yourself but, strangely enough, have no problem using when it’s in _my_ shower. It still counts, you know – it’s not like stealing fries off another guy’s plate.”

“Well, you’ve got me there,” the corners of Steve’s mouth quirk up at that and he steps forward until he’s beneath the curtain of water in front of Clint. Steve tilts his face up for a moment and when he looks down at Clint there’s water clinging to his eyelashes, making his eyes seem wider and brighter and there’s that same look there that he’d had out in the street in LA a few hours ago and Clint still doesn’t entirely know what to do with that but he _does_ know what to do with a naked Steve in his shower.

But it turns out that Clint is barely given the time to stretch up onto his tiptoes and bite Steve’s lower lip before Steve is pushing him up against the shower wall and kissing the Hell out of him. Looks like someone came to this party with a plan.

Steve’s skin feels warmer than the water falling on them and he kisses Clint like he’s spent the past few hours thinking about nothing else, lips plush and tongue a lewd stroke across Clint’s palate that steals his breath away, makes him feel lightheaded and drunk on just this. Steve presses against him like something inevitable and touches him carefully but not hesitantly with those big hands, slides them up Clint’s waist and over his shoulders, down the length of his arms, like he’s mapping Clint’s body beneath his palms.

It’s too much and not enough – maddening touches but no friction right where Clint wants it and he grabs at Steve’s slim hips to pull him in only to find a laugh startled out of him when his hands encounter soaked terrycloth.

There’s something strangely touching about a guy who’ll invite himself into your shower but will keep his towel on unless asked otherwise. He feels the curve of Steve’s abashed grin against his own mouth and can’t keep from grinning back and kissing him even harder because, yep, Captain America is officially kind of a dork.

Muscles flutter beneath his fingertips as he takes time to stroke across the satin skin of Steve’s belly before pulling the towel down to pool at their feet. He sucks Steve’s tongue into his mouth just as he closes his fist around Steve’s cock, feeling it like a brand against his palm, pulling from root to tip and suckling on Steve’s tongue in the same rhythm for a few rough strokes until Steve is gasping and shuddering against his mouth.

One last pull and Clint starts to sink to his knees but doesn’t get far before Steve stops him, catching him beneath the arms and pulling him up like he weighs nothing, panting “No no no, you stay there.”

Clint barely has time to be confused before Steve is kissing him again, deep demanding kisses that leave Clint fighting for air and then Steve is wrapping one of those huge warm hands around Clint’s cock and now Clint really can’t breathe.

The water makes things just slippery enough and Steve works him slowly, tight grip with a dirty twist across the head and the tips of his fingers grazing down past Clint’s balls on the down stroke. He keeps kissing Clint, crowding him against the wall and his free hand fingering the hard lines of Clint’s muscles across his arms and shoulders, easily restraining him when Clint tries to reach out, tries to touch Steve in return.

“No no,” Steve breathes between kisses, biting at Clint’s lips until they sting. “You just stay there and you let me do this. Just let me touch you, Clint; just let me make you feel good. You have any idea how good you look like this? How good you feel in my hand?”

Clint moans at that, having to tear his mouth away from Steve’s just so he can gasp in some air, his lungs too tight and his sense of equilibrium shot by Steve just pinning him against the wall and taking control of this so decidedly. It isn’t that Steve is ever even approaching passive – it’s just that Clint has more experience here and Steve is usually happy to follow his lead.

But not this time, apparently.

With his mouth free, Steve takes the opportunity to crowd in impossibly closer, biting kisses along Clint’s jaw and murmuring right in his ear, up close and shockingly intimate. “That’s it. That’s it, Clint. Been wanting to do this ever since the battle ended. Do you have any idea how good you looked today? In your suit and with my shield. Your tight _tight_ suit with no sleeves like they designed it just to drive me crazy. This muscle _right_ _here_ ” and he drags a thumb along the hard line of Clint’s tricep “this muscle drives me _crazy_.”

A flick of his wrist serves as punctuation and Clint clutches at Steve’s arms. “ _Jesus_ , Steve. _Fuck_. Like… like your uniform is any better.”

He can feel Steve laughing quietly against his throat. “You may have a point there. Come talk to me when I pick up your bow in the middle of a battle and singlehandedly fight off an army of robots. Shit. Hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

And Clint totally has a smartass response to that as well but he must have left it in his other shower because in this one he’s kind of finding it harder and harder to do anything except hold onto Steve and try to keep from drowning. Let Steve take him apart with that sure and steady and perfect grip around his cock and the possessive kisses and words Steve is biting into his skin like it’s okay for Clint to just do nothing. To just let himself be held in place and made to take this, made to feel this pleasure, and that’s enough.

“That’s it,” Steve murmurs, his voice the only thing Clint can hear over the roar of water, his teeth lightly tugging at Clint’s lower lip. “I’ve got you. You don’t even know how amazing you are, do you? How proud I am to fight beside you, how beautiful you are - the way you _moved_ , Clint. Jesus. You don’t even know. Just let it go, Clint. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, honey.”

Clint hears himself make a broken plosive sound at that, a protest or a plea, and Steve just croons at him approvingly.

“That’s right,” Steve breathes between kisses that Clint does his best to return, blindly reaching out for that contact even as he feels everything winding tighter and hotter inside him. “That’s it. _Beautiful_ , Clint. Just like that. I’ve got you. Just going to make you come now. Just going to keep doing this until you come all over my hand, okay?”

And he’s still talking, a steady stream of encouragement and endearment and snatches of phrase that tumbles over each other and tightens down to a single point until Clint can’t hear anything past the roaring in his ears as he’s coming, spilling over Steve’s hand and letting that strong perfect grip wring every last drop of pleasure from him. Gasping and tilting his face up to the falling water as Steve presses kisses into his throat and whispers nonsense to him as he gradually drifts back down.

When Clint blinks his eyes back into focus, the first thing he sees is Steve licking his fingers clean. A shudder runs through him and he must make a sound (probably an embarrassing one) because Steve flicks heated blue eyes up to lock on Clint’s and cocks an eyebrow as he deliberately pushes his index finger past kiss-swollen lips and sucks on it.

“Subtle,” Clint is still too breathless to inject the necessary amount of sarcasm in his tone but hopes his expression is picking up the slack.

Probably not though as Steve just grins at him, unrepentant and ridiculous and so fucking sexy that Clint has no choice but to kiss him, turning them and manhandling Steve until he’s the one with his back against the shower wall. This time, when Clint drops to his knees Steve lets him.

The abandoned towel goes beneath his knees and Clint takes a moment to just enjoy the view from down here. Miles of sleek wet muscle standing over him and that gorgeous hard dick aching to be touched, making Clint’s jaw twinge and saliva pool beneath his tongue just imagining the weight and the thickness of it.

“Jesus, I must have been really fucking good in a former life,” Clint says quietly to himself.

“You’re really good in this life,” Steve says, super-hearing catching everything as always. He’s watching Clint with heavy-lidded eyes and a slight smile on his face that Clint can’t help but return, touched despite himself by the uncomplicated sweetness of Steve in moments like this. Some people might mistake it for naivety, but it’s not that – Steve has seen humanity at its very worst, but hasn’t let that stop him from believing in the inherent goodness of people. More people should be like that. God knows Clint sometimes wishes he was.

He keeps smiling at Steve just long enough to see his lips part as Clint finally wraps his hand around the base of Steve’s cock. _Gorgeous_.

Clint mouths the hard line of Steve’s abs as he jacks him slowly. That beautiful fucking muscle that runs from hip to groin deserves some worship so Clint stays there a while, alternating bites and kisses and feeling real regret that whatever mark he leaves there will be healed long before it has time to bruise. He pushes that thought aside as he ducks his head to suck kisses across Steve’s balls, teasing along the seam before gently drawing first one and then the other into his mouth.

One of Steve’s hands comes to rest lightly on the back of Clint’s head, no pressure behind it but Clint gets the hint and drags his open mouth up the underside of Steve’s cock from the root to the tip.

Steve’s fingers spasm against Clint’s scalp and he chokes out a strangled jumble of words that can barely be heard over the shower’s dull roar but make Clint grin anyway, bottom lip pressed tight against the head of Steve’s cock. He loves how vocal Steve is in this, how responsive. How he isn’t afraid to show how much he loves having Clint’s mouth and hands on him.

Salt slicker than water meets his tongue when he swirls it across the head, licking up pre-come and tonguing the slit as he cups Steve’s balls and steadies himself with the other hand braced against Steve’s hip. He spends some time just taking Steve apart with dragging suction over the first few inches and his tongue flickering against that sensitive spot just beneath the head.

The noises above him are growing louder and more desperate but he waits until he can hear Steve’s voice drop into its lowest register before he finally sinks down and takes Steve straight down his throat.

Steve clutches at Clint’s hair and groans and this is the part Clint loves the most. The part where the rest of the world loses focus as Steve’s cock nudges its way in deep and forces everything else out.

Thick hot fucking _perfect_ pressure he can only moan around and Steve feeding Clint his cock in careful rolls of his hips. He’s all hard muscle and restrained power but his hands are gentle on Clint’s face, thumbs brushing across closed eyelids and fingertips exploring the stretch of Clint’s mouth, tracing the edges of where his body disappears inside Clint’s. 

It doesn’t take long. Of course, Steve has been worked up for hours, probably thinking about exactly this, and pretty soon he starts adding an extra push at the end of his thrusts, a little extra pressure, and that’s the signal for Clint to start swallowing around him. His throat is aching in that really awesome kind of way as Steve’s hips stutter, losing their steady rhythm, making him have to fight to get enough air until it’s a choice between pulling off or passing out.

So he compromises and pulls back just enough that he can steal shallow breaths and wraps a hand around the base of Steve’s cock, jacking what he can’t fit into his mouth and working his tongue flat against the underside. Steve’s fingers scrabble in his hair, one hand fumbling down to grip the back of Clint’s neck – not pushing, just holding on as Clint increases the suction and drags up another couple of inches so he can flick his tongue beneath the head. 

And that’s usually enough to do it but Steve is drawn so tight that he’s trembling and seems to be teetering on the brink, needing something more to push him over. Clint opens his eyes, blinking water from his lashes and looking up at Steve, trying to see what he needs. He finds Steve staring down at him, blue eyes wide and mouth gasping open and then he’s coming hard, taking Clint by surprise so that the first pulse ends up spilling over his lips and dribbling down his chin before he can hastily swallow the rest.

Slowly, Steve eases down and Clint draws the last of it from him with the kind of easy sliding suction he knows Steve likes until he feels Steve squeeze the back of his neck to say it’s enough. Clint leaves one last kiss to the head of Steve’s cock, smiling as it twitches, and then sits back on his heels and tilts his face up to the spray, feeling his throat burn and catch as he swallows water. He’s half-hard again but there’s no urgency to it and he just luxuriates in the feel of the water as he waits for Steve to come back to himself. 

When Steve finally looks down at him with his eyes dazed and blue and soft and fierce all at the same time, Clint feels a strange sense of déjà vu that makes him smile.

Steve smiles back like it’s a reflex he can’t control and then reaches down to pull Clint up, so quickly that Clint’s knees pop and he has to grab at Steve for balance before he’s being kissed. The kiss is possessive at first with Steve licking his own taste from Clint’s mouth, but quickly melts into something easy and sweet. Both of them still a little breathless and skating languid touches against each other’s skin.

“You’re amazing,” Steve finally murmurs into the kiss. “Who says you don’t have a superpower?”

That makes Clint start laughing and then Steve’s laughing too until kissing is impossible and they just have to stand there holding onto each other and laughing like morons.

Clint presses his forehead against Steve’s collarbone and tries not to wheeze as he gets himself under control. “You asshole.”

His voice sounds like shit so he’s not surprised when Steve moves one of those large hands to the back of his neck and strokes a soothing thumb along his throat. “Hey, I’m just telling it how it is. Besides, you love that I’m an asshole.”

Clint hums like that’s not the truest true thing ever and tips his chin up to bare more of his throat to Steve’s touch, eyes falling closed. “I think I was tricked by the nice guy in a shiny suit act.”

“Yeah, well, the gloves come off round the same time as the rest of the suit,” he can hear the smile in Steve’s voice. “Sorry about your luck.”

“Oh, you’ll be sorry,” Clint tells him. “You’ll be sorry because I’m totally telling Tony that you said sucking cock is my superpower.”

“No, you won’t,” Steve says easily.

No, he won’t. 

Tony wouldn’t believe him anyway. Really, no one would believe him if he told them even half the things he now knows about Captain America – not the other Avengers, not S.H.I.E.L.D. or the public. No one at all.

That’s okay though, he thinks. It’s good to keep some things to himself.

 


End file.
